Disclaimer: The characters in the story are property of Warner Brothers Production and that good ole Jerry Bruckheimer.
The rain lashed at her exposed skin, arctic droplets of water numbing her so entirely she was oblivious to the way the wind bit at her face, or the way her eyes watered and her cheeks grew pink with colour.
She didn't feel the invisible hands tug at the loose strands of blonde hair, felt nothing of the coldness, was blind to the frosty air that appeared in front of her every time she exhaled.
Her attention was focused. She moved rhythmically, her agile body flexing smoothly when she weaved her way through the early morning shadows.
She passed the tall city buildings, gray and dreary in colour, colossal in size, the cool glass reflecting a mirror image of her. Allowing her gaze to drift over, the Hudson River promised seclusion and she found herself daring closer and closer, the crystalline water rolling in turbulent waves, crushing the mass of body against the banks.
Tucking her arms in closer, she pumped her legs harder. Her well-worn sneakers hit the pavement hard, sending jolts of tension through her legs. Ignoring the sounds of the distant traffic, Samantha Spade shut out the world around her and listened only to the blood rushing through the depths of her ears, imagining the metallic red fluid fill the narrow canals, until each and every crevice drowned and all sound emulated an underwater sanctuary. Her raspy breaths perforated that silence, the burning in her lungs increasing as she punished her body with the vigorous pace, legs threatening to collapse beneath her if she slowed.
Beyond the rivers edge she glimpsed New Jersey. Ominous black clouds hung heavily over the large state, gathering weight before the downpour swept over the inhabitants. Samantha had known it would rain today. Her bones tingled with the drop in temperature and she woke hours before her alarm was set to wake her. Out in the fresh air, she thanked whatever psychic ability her body held and stretched her legs out longer, feeling the extension run through her muscles.
A jogger in red pants approached her from the opposite direction, the only colour to assault her eyes since she left her apartment. As he came nearer she felt his eyes roam leisurely over her body, and she groaned inwardly at the audacity every male seemed to possess.
Keeping her eyes on an imaginary point above his shoulder, she soldiered on through the rain and the wind and the eyes that followed her movements.
The saturated ground rose imperceptibly, and she almost slipped on the dew-ridden grass. Correcting her footing quickly, she stumbled briefly and prayed to god no one had seen it. Undeterred, she regained the speed and ground she had lost. A woman with earphones plugged in her ears passed by, and Sam wondered how people could allow themselves to get lost in something so insipid. She preferred the sound of her own thoughts, uncoiling in her mind as she ran and ran, moving further away from previous troubles.
Running alongside the Hudson River, Sam breathed in the frigid air, the smells of the water cleansing her sinuses, the chirping of the birds as they woke with the sun clearing her foggy mind. She hadn't realised the rain had stopped, never felt the difference on her skin. Without the rain she was aware of the sweat that trickled down her back, the beads of perspiration that dotted her forehead, the slow decline of salty water as it rolled down her neck, between her breasts.
To her left a couple sat, faces raised to the clearing young sky, waiting patiently for the sun to break through and heat the damp city. It was almost seven when she caught her breath at the corner of Twelfth and West 42nd Street, stopping only to bend over and re-tie her laces, loosened from the temper she threw at the ground. Her thoughts strayed as she picked her pace up, back to yesterday and the unsolved case the team were forced to leave behind. She needed the closure, needed the answers that closing a case brought. Heart thudding hard against her ribs, Samantha continued uptown, her destination not far from here.
She ran with speed, dodging people as the crowds increased on the streets. Her anger flared for the missing child, fuelling her, sending waves of energy through her body as she moved faster yet. Running harder and harder she missed the man who stepped out from the café ahead of her, missed the expression on the man's face as he looked up just before she crashed into him.
She hit him hard, right in the chest, his arms flinging out to grasp her arm and hip, the coffee in his hand flying into the air and tumbling down to form a puddle near his feet. He held strong while she regained her balance, her body still convulsing with the sudden loss in speed and movement.
"Ugh." Sam said, startled.
The stranger recognised her immediately. "Sam?"
"Martin?" Sam breathed hard between words. "What are you doing here?"
Martin raised his eyebrows and glanced down at the spilled coffee. Sam looked down too and brought her gaze back to Martin's face. She cringed. "Sorry." she said apologetically.
Hands still holding her tight, Martin released his grip on her and she took a step back. "It's too early for caffeine anyway." He waved it off with a sheepish grin.
"You're a long way from home." Sam commented, finally feeling the chill of the air as she stood in the open street.
"As are you."
"I was running."
"Sweaty. Rosy cheeks. Running gear. The white sneakers. All evidence points to that."
She narrowed her eyes playfully. "You a cop?"
"Who wants to know?" Martin countered.
"You ask tough questions, Fitzgerald." She said, rubbing her arms for warmth. Martin noticed the shiver run through her body as the wind picked up and swirled around them in lazy circles, rustling the fallen leave around them.
"Cold?" He inquired.
"Maybe."
"Here." He took of his coat and draped it over her shoulders, his ice blue shirt the color of frost.
Samantha cocked her head to the side. "You do realise I'm all sweaty from running?"
"Yeah, I noticed."
She regarded him over the collar of his coat. "Your tie matches your shirt." She pointed out.
Martin looked down at his attire. "You're surprised?"
She smiled. "Maybe."
Martin tugged at his tie. "Only maybe? Why, I'm as sharp as Diddy."
She gave an audible snort. "You're comparing yourself to a rapper?"
"I can be hip."
"Martin."
"Alright. Maybe not that sharp."
"You look nice."
"I know."
She rolled her eyes and slapped him on the arm. "Were you headed for the office?" Sam asked, pulling the coat tighter around her.
"I was, and then this sweaty-"
"I think we've established I'm sweaty."
He ignored that, continuing. "-woman threw herself at me-"
"I didn't see you!"
"-Knocked my latte from my hands-"
Sam opened her mouth, but stalled all speech when Martin hushed her with his open palm.
"-Was really looking forward to that la-"
"Martin."
He stopped his ramblings and gave her the most serious face he could conjure up. "Samantha."
Her lips twitched. "Have you had breakfast?"
He checked his watch. "It's only five-past. Anyone who's had breakfast earlier than seven has a very questionable lifestyle."
"Martin!"
"No, I haven't."
"Great," she said, looping her arm through his while simultaneously flagging down a cab, "You can cook me breakfast while I'm in the shower."
Martin cocked an eyebrow. "And why would I do that?"
Dragging him into the cab, she scooted over for him. "If you show up for work an hour and a half early, what will everyone think?" She gave an exaggerated sigh.
"My reputation is in trouble if I put in a few extra hours?"
"They might think you're an overachiever." She said, her expression mock-serious.
Martin laughed at the absurdity of the conversation, but joined in anyway. "Wouldn't want that!"
Sam smiled, her arm still entwined with his. "So…eggs?"
My first WAT oneshot! Did you like it? I'm usually over writing on the Bones forum, but I was all Smartified after Tuesday night's episode, and Riley is rather insistent...